


I scratched my Jeep

by lheadley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Scott as an good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lheadley/pseuds/lheadley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had always had a more subdued range of scents than other people; his scents were harder to identify, and harder to distinguish one from another. Scott thought it was because he and Stiles were so close – like how humans were normally oblivious to their own scent most of the time. Stiles’s scent and Scott’s scent had to merge, at least to some degree. Maybe it was because Scott was not properly in control as a werewolf – he was only too aware of his own failings (and should he ever not be aware of his own failings Derek would very kindly point them out to him). So the smell was subtle, but it was there. A dusty, dark, smoky sort of a smell.</p><p>A smell of sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I scratched my Jeep

Scott didn’t notice at first.

It was not that he was not paying attention to Stiles. Stiles had been Scott’s best friend for ever, and it was simply impossible to ignore Stiles. He was always present: dependable, energetic, snarky, very obviously there. But Scott had been trying really, really hard to focus on school work. And trying really hard to be a better son to his mum, who when it came down to it had reacted pretty well to the whole werewolf thing. And the whole werewolf thing was still hard. And then there was Allison.

Allison.

Not something he wanted to focus on, but something he had to focus on to stop himself focusing on it too much. Because despite being OK about everything and knowing it would all work out and that they would end up together, it still hurt. A lot. All the time.

There were times, late at night, times which Scott would never admit to anyone (not even to Stiles), when he questioned his certainty that he and Allison would be together in the end. Although Stiles probably knew that he had doubts, because Stiles was awesome like that. And Stiles always agreed with him with unnatural emphasis, whenever he talked about Allison and him being destined for one another. 

Scott felt himself being pulled in lots of different directions. He needed to turn himself into a better person, or better werewolf, or better whatever. And that was hard – Scott felt how far he had fallen from where he should be over the last year or so. Plus, Stiles had not said anything, or done anything. Stiles was still… Stiles. Still energetic. Very energetic, of course. Upbeat. Sarcastic, generally directing that sarcasm at Scott, but Scott didn’t mind that. They were brothers. Sarcasm at Scott’s expense was how Stiles expressed his affection for him. At least, Scott was 95% sure that was what it was. Every once in a while there may have been a bit of a bite behind the sarcasm, but for the most part it was affection.

So, Scott hadn’t noticed. 

Then one evening after school, Scott had picked up on something. He was with Stiles, and Stiles was helping him with economics. Scott had been doing better in most classes but Finstock was a truly awful teacher. He relied on humiliation and belittling as teaching techniques. Come to think of it he relied on humiliation and belittling as coaching techniques too. Scott was not on the same wavelength as Finstock. It was not really that likely that anyone was on the same wavelength as Finstock, but with Scott it was like Finstock was speaking a different language. Scott found economics hard to start off with, and Finstock made it impossible. Finstock could rant and yell for an entire class, and Scott would not understand a single thing. Half an hour with Stiles, and it would click.

Stiles had been going over elasticity with Scott. Scott had never grasped this properly. Stiles had tried to explain it one way, and Scott still hadn’t understood. Stiles had seen that, in spite of Scott’s attempts to blag his way through it, and had explained it another way. And then it had clicked. Scott had gotten that surging sense of relief and pride and understanding that came with finally getting to grips with a problem. It was a sensation he had been having more and more often of late, with Stiles’s help. Stiles had smiled at him, and Scott had pulled him in for a celebratory hug “Dude, thank you so, so much. You are awesome.” He had squeezed Stiles tight.

Then Scott had noticed.

Stiles had always had a more subdued range of scents than other people; his scents were harder to identify, and harder to distinguish one from another. Scott thought it was because he and Stiles were so close – like how humans were normally oblivious to their own scent most of the time. Stiles’s scent and Scott’s scent had to merge, at least to some degree. Maybe it was because Scott was not properly in control as a werewolf – he was only too aware of his own failings (and should he ever not be aware of his own failings Derek would very kindly point them out to him). So the smell was subtle, but it was there. A dusty, dark, smoky sort of a smell.

A smell of sadness.

Scott knew what Stiles looked like when he was sad, of course. On the same date every March, Scott came over and sat in Stile’s room for the day, and slept overnight; on the anniversary. They didn’t talk much, but Scott knew what Stiles looked like then. The bite had happened after this year’s anniversary so he was not sure what the smell of sad Stiles would be like. But he thought he knew. He had caught something of this coming off of Stiles on the night of the rave as they had driven over to the warehouse. He hadn’t understood the scent at the time, and was rather focused on making sure no one else got hurt, but after the sheriff had been fired Stiles had had this scent. And then, after the showdown with Gerard, when Lydia and Jackson were rekindling whatever it was they were rekindling, Scott had picked up on this scent coming subtly from behind him. He had been with Allison, holding her hand on one of the last times they had been together, but the sudden dark scent had hit him. He had turned to try to speak to Stiles, putting thoughts of Allison to one side, but Stiles had muttered something and walked off with an assumed veneer of dignity that Scott could see was cracking into pieces.

There were subtle differences, nuances to scents, even when they covered the same emotion, so this was not exactly the same as either of those other scents. More like the Lydia related scent than the scent caused by Stiles’s father, though still different. But this was definitely sadness based. Why it was different from the other scents of sadness, Scott had no idea.

“Dude, is everything OK?”

“Everything is great, Scott. Why wouldn’t it be? You have finally got to grips with elasticity of demand, and now you are going to take me out for a burger and curly fries to celebrate at your expense. And there is a pun in there about my demand function and its elasticity with regard to your ability to buy me curly fries, but you are going to have to give me a minute to work on it.”

Stiles sounded upbeat, as ever, but Scott thought he could hear an undercurrent to the tone of his voice. A slight catch before the positive accents came gushing out. But if Stiles did not want to talk about it, Scott was not going to push. Stiles must know Scott would be there for him whenever he needed him.

“Sure. But you drive.”

He pulled Stiles out of his chair, and they headed out.

 

After that, Scott tried to focus on Stiles a bit more. Outwardly nothing seemed to change. Stiles would answer back in class, bait Harris, throw himself energetically into gaming, flail his arms around to emphasise whatever point it was he was trying to get across, and fire off a barrage of sarcasm in Scott’s direction. But Scott could now hear a slightly forced enthusiasm to Stiles’s tone of voice. At one lacrosse practice Scott suddenly caught sight of Stiles sitting on the bench, staring into the middle distance with an unnatural stillness and a clenched jaw. Stiles never sat like that. After a moment he seemed to shake himself, and was back to his old self, yelling derisively at Greenberg and cheering Scott on. But Scott had caught a glimpse of something else. It caused a feeling of apprehension, a slight churning in his stomach. This was Stiles. Stiles should not be like this.

Scott was not much of a person for research, but he did some Google searches on depression. He even sneaked a couple of his mum’s medical textbooks. A few years before these had been sneaked for impromptu sex education, so he knew his way around the books, but he was not getting much guidance that seemed to fit. He didn’t want to talk to his mum about this – it would seem like a breach of friendship, breaking the code, to discuss Stiles without Stiles’s permission.

Stiles was still not mentioning anything. The silence made it worse. Stiles shared, without any kind of inhibition or acknowledgement of social conventions. He had always shared everything, with lavish and generally unnecessary detail. Scott was not a prude – he just blushed easily, and got a bit awkward and embarrassed, but that was not the same thing at all - but some of the things Stiles came out with in the past were just… Anyway, Scott gave Stiles opportunities to share. He dropped hints. He even took him out with a bottle of Jack to the preserve, on the pretext of needing to talk about Allison. That had been a disaster. Stiles was normally a happy drunk – ever since their first illicit bottle of cider years ago, Stiles had been a happy drunk. That night he was morose, and then started to slip into an angry silence –holding onto the bottle aggressively, lifting his head only to take a swig. When Stiles had passed out, Scott was left none the wiser, scenting the smell of sadness and alcohol from Stiles, and alternating feelings of anxiety for his friend with thoughts of Allison. The depressing and never to be mentioned thoughts of Allison. 

Not a good night.

So Scott tried to eliminate the possible causes. The obvious place to start was Lydia. The scent was not the same as when Lydia and Jackson had been together, but it sort of made sense for Stiles to be sad about this. But this did not work. There was no increase in the scent when Stiles was with Lydia, and Stiles seemed to be generally comfortable around her. The scent of arousal still seemed to be present when Stiles was with Lydia, but it was just a faint lingering trace now. Nothing like what it had been. The cold ashes of a relationship that never was.

Stiles seemed to be OK with his dad. There was some sadness there – Scott knew Stiles was upset at having to lie to his dad all the time. But the scent Stiles gave off around his father was a mix of love, protectiveness and some sadness, but not the same quality of sadness. A deeper sadness, but a sadness that was accepted perhaps? Scott thought that was probably related to Stiles’s mum.

There did not seem anyone else who could trigger this, until it suddenly occurred to Scott that he might be the cause. Scott panicked at that. He could not cause that much pain to anyone. But it might make sense as Stiles was refusing to share with him. Scott could not think what he might have done to cause Stiles to react like that, if it was a reaction to him. For two days Scott freaked out. He did not know what to do to find out if it was him – there seemed no way of testing – and he did not know if he wanted to know if it was him. Of course, if he was causing Stiles to be this depressed, he wanted to know so he could stop it, but he did not want to be the cause.

Eventually inspiration hit. Scott explained some of the situation to Isaac, with what he thought was tact and subtlety, but which Isaac saw through in about ten seconds. Isaac was always sympathetic, at least now he had stopped trying to kill people, and he promised to try to help. Isaac’s sense of smell was not as keen as was Scott’s, but on the other hand Scott had always found it difficult to scent Stiles, so that probably balanced things out. Scott waited until he was certain he could sense Stiles’s sadness, and signalled to Isaac. Isaac nodded that he had picked up on the scent.

A couple of days later Isaac caught up with Scott in the locker room. Stiles had already gone, trudging out with a muttered farewell in Scott’s direction. His mask of positive, irrepressible enthusiasm for everything had been slipping a little of late. Isaac sat down on a bench, and beckoned Scott over.

“Whatever it is, it isn’t you.”

“Dude, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. In fact the scent seems to lessen when you are around. When you left lunch early to go study, the scent seemed to increase. I think you are helping him deal with whatever it is. And the emotions Stiles feels around you ordinarily are completely different. I…” Isaac paused, and looked down at his feet. “…I wish I had a friend who felt like that about me. What you guys have…”. Isaac swallowed. “Let’s just say that you have a closeness, an understanding that I envy.”

Scott pulled Isaac into a sideways hug, feeling a tickle as Isaac rested his curly hair against Scott’s bare shoulder. 

“You know you are awesome, right?”

Isaac huffed a little bit. “It’s not you Scott. But you should find out what it is. That scent is powerful.”

 

Scott found out by accident. Deaton had let him out early, and he decided to stop by to see Stiles. His mother was working late, so he had time before he tried to sort out dinner for her. Isaac had been very clear that Scott’s presence helped with the scent, so he rode his bike over and let himself in. He had texted to say he was coming over, but Stiles had not replied.

Barrelling up the stairs, Scott called out.

“Stiles, you up here bro? Deaton let me out early, so I came to whip your ass at…”

Scott got to the door of Stiles’s room, which was open. Stiles was on his bed, pushing himself up from where he had obviously been lying face down, while surreptitiously trying to wipe at his red rimmed eyes.

“Stiles, what is it? What the hell, man?”

“Scott… I… I… I scratched my jeep. Yeah. So…”

Scott had the faintest sense of déjà vu at that. He ignored it, and pushed over to where Stiles was now sitting on his bed, pulling him into a hug.

“Stiles, you have to tell me. What is it? What is so wrong? You can’t keep this stuff bottled in. It isn’t good for you. You must… I mean, if you want to. But it isn’t healthy.”

Stiles had his head buried into Scott’s shoulder. Scott could scent salt, although the dampness on his shoulder combined with Stiles’s wracked breathing told him all he needed to know.

“Let it out, Stiles. It will be OK.”

It took several minutes for Stiles’s sobbing to subside into some semblance of calm. Scott held him, and made soothing movements with his hands as he rubbed Stiles’s back. At the same time he tried to surreptitiously take in his surroundings and find the trigger for this – breakdown? Outburst? The terms his mum’s books had used did not really seem to fit.

Eventually Stiles lifted his face. Scott had some evidence: not much, but some.

“You want to talk about it?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Okaaay.” Scott was not sure this was a good idea. “So, Derek was over here. What did he want?”

There was a sharpening of the scent of sadness as Scott mentioned Derek’s name, and he heard a stutter in Stiles’s heart. Stiles looked dolefully at Scott, and just shook his head again.

Scott sat in silence for a moment, before the rush of enlightenment swept over him. Followed by a rush of rage.

“WHAT DID HE DO?”

Scott had gripped Stiles by both shoulders, and was trembling. He was almost shaking Stiles in his agitation. “WHAT? Stiles, tell me. What has he done? Why has he… I mean why have you?”

Stiles licked at his lips. “Nothing. He has done nothing. He just wanted” there was a hiccup “he just wanted some research done. And I…”

“Stiles.” Scott could feel a rage, a wolfy rage, rising in him. “Stiles, what did he do to make you so upset?”

Stiles smiled ruefully. “Nothing. He did nothing. Because why would he do anything? And I am upset because I am being stupid, idiotic, and want things I can’t have and…” another hiccup “… and that is it Scott.”

“You like him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I like him. Which is pathetic, I know. A silly, adolescent crush. And I tried to tell him this evening that I liked him. And he left. That is all.”

Scott made a growling sound at the back of his throat. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, and left. Don’t worry about it Scott. I’ll get over it. Hell, after Lydia Martin, how difficult can it be to get over it?” Stiles gave a weak smile.

Scott was still shaking with rage. That Derek could be so much of a jerk to leave Stiles like this. Even if he didn’t feel anything for Stiles there was no excuse for this.

“You deserve so much better Stiles, honestly. You are just…” Scott ran out of words, and hugged Stiles painfully close.

 

It was three hours later when Stiles persuaded Scott he was going to be OK, and that Scott should get back before his mum started worrying. Scott left, but texted his mum that he was going to be late and not to worry. He pedalled his bike in a fury to the Hale house, following Derek’s scent.

“DEREK”

It was not a shout, it was a roar in which human sounds could barely be discerned. Scott stood staring at the house, breathing heavily and struggling to keep his claws and fangs from showing.

“DEREK. Get the FUCK out here. NOW.”

The door opened. Derek stood at the top of the steps, his face a blend of irritation and bemusement, and perhaps something else. Scott was not in the mood to read the hidden messages in Derek’s eyebrows.

“What the hell are you playing at? I know you have your issues, but there must be some lingering trace of humanity in that pathetic shell of yours. How could you do that to Stiles?”

“What?” Derek’s ignorance – faked ignorance – set Scott off. Claws ripped out, and his canines lengthened. Derek staggered back against the door frame, visibly startled.

“Scott, your eyes… when did you...? How did you become...?”

Scott ignored him. “You must know Stiles has feelings for you. You must be able to sense it. And even if you don’t have feelings for him, you don’t treat people like that. You let them down gently, you don’t run away in disgust when they tell you. God, you are a lousy human being, Derek. I’d say you make a better wolf than you do a human, but we both know that would be a lie too. You don’t deserve someone like Stiles, and the fact that by some miracle he likes you does not give you license to trample all over his feelings. You stay away from him. I don’t want to catch your scent anywhere near him, or his house, or the school, or anything. Give him time to come to his senses and let him realise he is far too good for you.”

There was a roar at the end. Derek had paled, and seemed to have slumped backwards.

“Do you understand me?”

There was menace in Scott’s tone.

Derek was staring at Scott. “No. Scott, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Scott snarled. “You went there tonight. Stiles told me he told you he had feelings for you, and you just ran. And I got there to discover him crying on his own because he was too ashamed to admit what he felt to anyone after you...”

Derek looked dazed, but croaked out “Stiles… Stiles has… feelings for me?”

Scott heard the wonder in the tone of his voice. His heart rate slowed a little. “You didn’t know?”

“I never knew… how could I know? How would I be able to know?”

“Stiles told you.”

Derek became agitated. “He never told me anything. I mean, he was going on about werewolf mating rituals and talking about lacrosse, and there was something about Lydia and research, but he did not tell me he had feelings for me.”

Scott could tell Derek was sincere. No stuttering heart beat. He looked closely at him.

“You could not work out from that, that he had feelings for you?”

“I thought it was part of his research. How the hell was I supposed to know what he was going on about? You know what he can be like. And I could feel myself losing control, being with him for so long while he was… Wait, he was crying?” Derek pulled himself up. “Get out of my way, Scott.” 

Scott stood his ground. “Where do you think you are going?”

“Stiles was crying, and you just left him? What kind of jerkwad friend are you? Why would you do that? Get out of my way.”

“I did not leave him. I got him calmed down, and I came here to tell you to get the hell out of his life. Are you saying you have feelings for Stiles?”

“Of course I have feelings for Stiles. How could I not have feelings for Stiles? How can you be so dense Scott? It is Stiles, and he is upset, and….” 

Derek pushed past Scott, wrenched open the door of his car, and disappeared.

 

A week later, Scott was waiting outside the bowling alley. He heard Stiles’s excited babble long before he could see him. The alpha powers he had suddenly acquired a week ago were taking some getting used to. Another thing to focus on, another burden to shoulder. “Some have greatness thrust upon them” Stiles had quoted at him, when he saw him last. Which had been a couple of days ago, because Stiles was busy an awful lot these days. But he had arranged to meet up this evening, with Derek too of course, to hang out.

Stiles and Derek came into view, hand in hand. Stiles was swinging their interlinked arms together, chuntering on about lacrosse practice. Derek caught Scott looking towards them, and looked down bashfully, before looking up again with a sense of defiance. He leant across to plant a quick kiss on Stiles’s cheek, as they walked towards Scott. Stiles flushed, and stuttered mid sentence, before carrying on talking with his restless energy. 

Scott felt a pang as he looked at the two of them, so complete in their happiness. His thoughts flickered briefly, painfully to Allison. He pushed down the worries – things were going better. They had spoken last night for a couple of hours over the phone. They were destined to be together. Eventually. 

Scott plastered a smile onto his face, and went forward to meet the couple. He was not going to be a wet blanket on his best friend’s happiness. Stiles would be there if he needed him. He always had Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off Stiles's quote towards the end of "Masterplan", and Scott's reaction to Stiles


End file.
